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Where a Revolution Was Sparked

By DAVID LEONHARDT

Published: December 17, 2000

A FEW days after the Mexican priest had issued his cry for revolt, his swelling band of rebels was facing its first major battle. The revolutionaries of 1810 had swept through a couple of small towns in the mountains north of Mexico City and were descending on Guanajuato, a regional capital rich in silver and Spanish colonial power. The colonists hurriedly hid in a granary on the city's west side, hoping to hold off the rebels and wait for reinforcements.

Racing time, the priest ordered a young miner -- Juan Jose de los Reyes Martinez -- to set fire to the building, known as the Alhondiga de Granaditas. So the miner strapped a massive stone to his back. He then ran uphill to the granary, with Spanish bullets deflecting off the stone, and set fire to the building's entrance. Martinez fell dead, but the Alhondiga was lighted and, as the slaves went streaming in to massacre their former masters, Mexico's War of Independence had begun.

To honor the battle, the city of Guanajuato erected a 30-foot statue of Martinez, depicting him with torch raised, in 1939. The huge stone icon, which is known by Martinez's nickname -- El Pipila (or female turkey, derived from the fact that his complexion was mottled, like a turkey egg) -- offers a chilling inscription at its base that serves as a reminder of the central role that revolution has played in Mexico's history: Aun hay otras Alhondigas por incendiar -- There are still other Alhondigas to burn.

Every city has a place from which a visit should begin, and this is Guanajuato's. It would hold that title even if it had no historic significance. From the foot of El Pipila, the whole city stretches before a visitor's eyes -- the colorful patchwork of its stucco buildings, the spires of its churches, the hillside silver mine that brought it wealth and the mountains that lift it above desert heat. Looking carefully, in between the buildings, one can even see the irregularly shaped plazas that help make Guanajuato one of North America's most pleasant cities.

Two hundred miles northwest of Mexico City, at the geographical center of the country, Guanajuato sits atop dramatically plunging fields of corn and cacti. It is not nearly as popular a destination as Mexico's seaside resorts or its sprawling capital, but Guanajuato has developed a devoted following of Europeans, Americans and Mexicans who like their tourism without packaging.

The city, a university town, has made news lately for its role in a different kind of revolution. This month, Vicente Fox Quesada -- former governor of the state of Guanajuato, in which the city sits -- became Mexico's president, breaking the ruling party's seven-decade grip on power.

But the city contains few hints of the sleek, modern nation that Mr. Fox has promised to create. It sprang up from an Indian settlement, became a mining encampment in the 16th century and still resembles a Spanish town as much as any place on this continent. With 110,000 residents, it is far easier to navigate than Mexico's largest cities. Given its museums, mild summers and student-filled cafes, Guanajuato practically enforces relaxation without permitting boredom.

It devotes one museum to its native son, Diego Rivera, and another to Don Quixote. Every October, in fact, the city is host to a two-week arts festival that celebrates Cervantes. On the edges of the city are a silver mine into which visitors can descend and, strange as it sounds, a popular collection of bodies mummified by the local soil that have been dug up from a nearby cemetery.

My fiancee, Laura, and I went to Guanajuato late last summer at the suggestion of friends, looking to unwind and celebrate her recent move to New York. We had just spent a disappointing five days in Puerto Vallarta that included more bugs and beach vendors than we had expected and fewer suitcases than we had checked at La Guardia Airport. With our luggage finally back in our hands, we were willing to trade a view of the Pacific Ocean for authenticity and serenity.

Before our trip, I had made phone reservations at a small hotel in Guanajuato, and the desk attendant giggled when I asked about paying in advance. After a bit of room-switching following our arrival, we found ourselves paying $35 a night for a room with a bed in a loft and a kitchen. The mold in the bathroom confirmed that Hostal Cantarranas was a budget lodging. But without even lifting our heads from the bed's pillows, we had a perfect view of a striking orange church a hundred or so yards away.

Best of all, the hotel was only slightly farther from the the heart of Guanajuato: the Jardin de la Union, a triangular plaza that is barely airy enough to be worthy of the term. Translated literally, in fact, it is a garden. From our first hours in the city to the end of our fourth day, we made it our headquarters.

The Jardin's outermost ring consists of buildings -- hotels, small shops and a church. Then comes the walking space, smooth red-and-white tiles that seem far too delicate for such an unambiguously public place; locals, tourists, mariachis and waiters tramp all over them, but the tiles are no worse for it. The next ring of the Jardin consists of trees clipped to resemble an elevated wall of green, providing frequent shade. Finally, at the Jardin's center stands a small gazebo for lounging and occasional peformances more formal than those by mariachis.